


In the after-time.

by saintofnovember



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, It's raining at the Barns and they're soft, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintofnovember/pseuds/saintofnovember
Summary: There's a rainstorm at the Barns.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	In the after-time.

Ronan stomped off his rain boots in the hall before locking the back door through which he had just come. The beat of the rain on the roof became evident as the full sound of the storm was locked out. He shrugged off his raincoat and hung it on a peg by the door.

A soft noise prompted him to look up. He was crouched slightly, with one leg balanced over the other as he slipped on his slippers, so it was a bit of a way up. Adam stood before him, eyes soft and smile quirked. In one hand, he held _Alice in Wonderland_. Although he hadn’t seen the book in several years, Ronan’s eyes caressed its surface in a knowing way, remembering each fray and faded letter before he saw them.

“Hey, Adam.” Adam’s smile reached his ears, quick, like a thunderclap, and then it was hidden behind a fist.

Ronan gently put his foot down and rose, regaining his height so that Adam had to look up at him instead. Carefully, _carefully_ , Ronan touched the edge of Adam’s jaw. Ran his finger along to his chin.

When Adam had woken that morning, Ronan was already gone from their bed, sheets rumpled and pillow cool. He had heard the rain on the roof and imagined Ronan in his big orange raincoat, sloshing through the muddy fields to milk the cows and feed the magical deer that lived at the edge of the valley. He had had half a notion to pull on a jacket, to go help, but he’d been lulled back to sleep, a dream tugging gently at his consciousness.

A few blissful hours later, he’d woken again to heavier rain. Grabbing a blanket from the end of their bed, he wandered through the upstairs rooms of the Barns. In Matthew’s room, he found a worn copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ lying on the bedside table. He’d flipped through it, wondering at the yellowing pages, the high windows casting it in a cool, reverential light.

After sitting with the book for a few more minutes, just watching the cloudy light filter over the pages, he’d gone downstairs to the kitchen. A piece of toast from the impossible toaster later, he’d sunk into the living room couch with the book, listening to the rain overhead and reading the stories of Ronan’s childhood.

Now, he stood in the hall doorway, watching Ronan stomp off his boots and, unbelievably, _hang_ his massive orange coat on the peg by the door.

When he looked up at Adam, the lines of Ronan’s face smoothed and softened. He stood slowly, and Adam lifted his chin to follow him with his eyes. Ronan touched his jawbone, feather-light, and Adam closed his eyes.

On Ronan’s lips, Adam could taste the rain. The late fall storm outside, Adam knew, smelled like crinkled leaves and wide open, mulchy fields dampened by the rain. Ronan’s mouth held the memory of water running off leaves and pooling in hollows in trunks, everything cool, and strange, and slightly other. He tasted like the way a stormy day was marked by liminal time, not by hours. He tasted like raindrops landing on your face, catching on your tongue. Adam knew that he had tasted like this, once. That there was a time when Cabeswater ran through his veins just as deeply as it did in Ronan's. 

Once, while they were tangled together in the depths of the night, unable to sleep, Adam had asked Ronan if he would still love him if Adam wasn't Cabeswater, wasn't _something more_. Ronan had scoffed, and then had cupped Adam's face so gently that Adam thought he had imagined it, and told him that he would love him _no matter what Adam was_ so softly that Adam knew he hadn't.

It had been a summer day the first time Adam had told Ronan he loved him. Ronan had kissed him, and they'd tumbled over into the grass out back of the Barns, giddy and young. Since then, Adam had stopped tasting like a spring forest, leaves wet and moss glistening in watery sunlight.

Now, when Ronan kissed him, he could taste that summer day. The crinkled, dry grass that tickled your calves as you wandered through fields, fading afternoon light that turned everything a sleepy gold, the impossibly red popsicle that dripped down your hand, sweet like a memory and already melting away like the hours. Once, Adam had tasted like a spring forest, leaves wet and moss glistening in watery sunlight. Now, he tasted like home, like the Barns, like every summer would forever, and ever, and ever.

They had always been so fast. Synapses and nerves and explosions of light and the hum of electronica and speeding on the interstate at two o'clock in the morning. Furtively, they each treasured the quiet moments; watching the other sleep in the morning light, gravel popping while they pulled into the driveway at the Barns, reading outside in the late afternoon on opposite ends of the big back porch as grasshoppers jumped in the grass. 

As they pulled away, all hot breath ghosting over cheeks and slow smiles, Adam held up the book.

“Do you want to read for a while?” He let his accent smother the vowels, nice and slow, like he knew Ronan secretly adored.

Ronan ducked his head, his own smile visible beneath the arm that scrubbed his neck sheepishly.

They retreated to the living room, Adam tugging another blanket off a different couch, and curled up together. Ronan rested his head on Adam’s chest as the latter opened the book and began to read, soft and slow.

_“Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood; and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago; and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days._ ”

Ronan lifted his head an inch from Adam’s chest to gaze up at him. Adam closed the book with a soft snap.

“You’re such a softie.” Adam said fondly. Ronan laid his head back down.

“Don’t tell.”

“Not for the world. You're mine, Lynch.”

They laid there, Adam tracing Ronan’s tattoo through his shirt until they fell asleep together, in their house of dreams, the rain still pattering on the roof far above them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there friends! 
> 
> The Alice in Wonderland passage isn't by me, obviously, but by Lewis Carroll. Ronan and Adam are Maggie Stiefvater's lovely characters.
> 
> Much love to everyone in quarantine and who is social distancing right now. These boys make me smile so much, so I thought I'd bring that to everyone else in need of a little soft pynch right now.
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr @eganantiquus and instagram @apricotsaint. On my other instagram, @aecaeles, (I'm currently doing escapril 2020-- a poem from a prompt every day in April) where I scream into the void about books. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated here!!
> 
> I love you all, and stay safe.


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